I woke up and she was gone. I walked upstairs and my mom was at the kitchen counter. She was angry at me. I guess when she got up that morning, Stacy was sitting on the couch in the living room crying, and mom had to deal with her. She got her all packed up and on her way.
I explained why I ended it, but I didn’t really feel like getting into details. It was done. So just let it be done.
Now, at the age of 19, when you end a relationship that was nine months long, it is a big deal. You get to tell your friends it’s over and they ask about it and ask if you’re ok. You get to feel free again. Filled with opportunity and hope. Excitement, almost. For who may come along next.
I got to go through that all for a couple weeks. And it was pretty cool, really. But Stacy was still on my mind. I was wondering what she was up to. Was she still bed-ridden, crying about me? Is she off flirting with a bunch of other guys, acting like she doesn’t care, trying to get “revenge” in her own way? We didn’t speak once in those two weeks.